


Drag Race

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The operation is all set up - and then Donovan falls down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drag Race

Lestrade stomped into his office and glowered at Donovan or, more accurately, at her ankle. It was propped up on the table with an icepack around it.  
  
Donovan looked _almost_ apologetic. Almost.  
  
"If I didn't know how much you want to nail this bastard, I'd think you busted that ankle deliberately just to get out of standing on a street corner in this snow," Lestrade growled.  
  
"Sorry, Sir. I'm sure if they strap it up enough and I take some painkillers--"  
  
"And if he legs it, you'll chase after him how? Or worse yet, what if he chases after you? Forget it. We'll have to find somebody else." Lestrade dragged his fingers through his hair leaving it sticking up in all directions. "Any suggestions? What about DC Phillips?"  
  
"On holiday."  
  
"DC Fraser?"  
  
"Seven months pregnant."  
  
"Bloody hell."  
  
"Shame there aren't more female detectives, isn't it, Sir?" Donovan said pointedly.  
  
"Alright, Sally - don't push it. We have to have _somebody_ covering that location. The response team's in place already."  
  
"Correct me if I'm wrong, boss, but we know he goes for the taller girls, right?"  
  
"Yeah, so?"  
  
Donovan grinned.  
  
Lestrade felt the blood drain from his face. "Oh, _hell_ no..."

 

* * *

  
Lestrade clutched desperately at the wall as he stumbled again on his way out of the locker room. "How the _blazes_ do you walk in these damn things?"  
  
Donovan chuckled. "You'll get the knack of it."  
  
"Where did you get size ten high heels, anyway?"  
  
"Trust me boss, you're better off not knowing."  
  
To her credit, Donovan was trying very hard not to collapse into fits of laughter. There was after all a serious reason for her - extremely male - boss to be wearing high heels, fishnets, a PVC skirt and a leather jacket over a black frilly blouse. That reason was a killer who'd already strangled four working girls who'd been unlucky enough to pick up the wrong john.  
  
She adjusted Lestrade's shoulder-length auburn wig and limped back a step. "Right, let's take a look at you."  
  
Lestrade was just glad there wasn't a mirror. He was sure he must look like the world's ugliest ever prossie but as long as he didn't actually see himself, he might be able to carry it off. _Balls it out_ , so to speak. "Well?"  
  
"Really? Not nearly as bad as I thought it might be."  
  
"Thanks - I think."  
  
"You're a bit... squint there though. Let me just..."  
  
Donovan put her hands firmly on the two wads of padding on Lestrade's chest and subtly shifted them.  
  
"Alright girls - anything I can help with?" DI Gregson chose exactly the wrong moment - or right moment in his opinion - to come into the office.  
  
Lestrade looked up. "Yeah, does my bum looks big in this, Toby?"  
  
"Jesus fuck!" Gregson jumped backwards and fell over a chair making Lestrade and Donovan both burst out laughing. He scrambled to his feet, bright red in the face. " _Lestrade_?"  
  
"What do you think, DI Gregson?" Donovan asked him.  
  
Gregson looked Lestrade up and down and laughed. "I think I'd either have to be totally plastered or _you'd_ have to pay _me_."  
  
"Yeah, well - if the light isn't so good on that corner..." Lestrade frowned and tugged at the skirt.  
  
"Aww - don't get your knickers in a twist, Stradey." Gregson thumped him heartily on the shoulder. "Put a bit of slap on and you'll probably look better than a lot of the mingers out there."  
  
"Make-up?" Lestrade looked horrified.  
  
Donovan nodded. "'Fraid so, Sir." She held up a small bag.  
  
Lestrade sat down and closed his eyes. "This just gets better and better. Alright Sally, do your worst - and by that I mean best..."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little bit of fun for Mr Graves Birthday!
> 
> Inspired by this wonderful picture of Rupert Graves in _Open Fire_ :  
> 


End file.
